


Heavy is the Head

by hyperlethalrabbit



Series: Alaric Series [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-11
Updated: 2020-05-11
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:54:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24128488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hyperlethalrabbit/pseuds/hyperlethalrabbit
Summary: A king is forced to come to terms with his own rulings as a rebellion storms his castle and threatens everything he's ever known.
Series: Alaric Series [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1741000
Kudos: 1





	Heavy is the Head

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is my first ever post here and to be honest I'm not 100% sure how it works. But if you enjoyed, I'm grateful!

Heavy is the Head  
By hyperlethalrabbit  
Prologue

They moved clear and swift throughout the night, hastily gathering in the underhalls of some public house, slipping on masks and donning their crudely fashioned armor, with bits of metal covering mostly exposed leather. Chatter was low -- they had merely been given the command hours earlier. Tonight we strike. Leading them all was the only man brave enough to marshal the forces together, though very few actually knew who he was. His cause was enough to rally behind, even through a faceless leader. The air was abuzz, nervous chatter punctuating the dark meeting area: mostly talk about what the new world would be like once the tyrant finally had his rope necktie. The harshness, the inequality, the naivete -- the King had to go, and he had to go soon. The rebellion had been underground for several years, only finally gaining traction due to some master negotiating by the leader of the rebels. The leader chatted with some members of his inner circle, discussing the planned events for the day. Eventually, the rebels were called to order by the clanging of a sword against the wall.

“We move on the castle,” the leader commanded. “By the morning, the King will be pleading for his life at the edge of our swords. We will herald in the new era, an era of prosperity, an era that cares for his common man, his fellow man!” The speech roused the hearts of his comrades, and their footsteps beat out a resounding fury, full of hope and vigour. The leader commanded them to march, and they set off towards the castle, home of the tyrant king Alaric. 

Chapter I - Lies, Deceit, and Treachery

Hordes of unblinking eyes staring at me. Filthy rogues, light dancing haphazardly over their mismatched plates of armor bolted everywheres. From up high, a pile of bricks falls down, denting the lavish wooden floor and piling up in between us. My castle, my kingdom, brought to ruins in less than a day… by this motley crew of dissenters.

“ALARIC!” calls out their leader, his voice and face hidden behind a helmet as befits a coward such as he. I do not know his identity, but I’ll find it one way or the other. They’re all going to the block regardless.

“Back! All of you! Kneel to the King!” a familiar voice calls out. Drumlike footsteps echo throughout the throne room as the Royal Guard pours in. Edward, the captain, plants himself at my side. I glance up at him from my throne, unwilling to give these rebellious scum the satisfaction of having made me rise to their foolish challenge. “Worry not, sire. These miscreants shall never defeat the Royal Guard! This is the kingdom’s very best, they are!” Edward crows. Unfortunately, there is a very popular saying about pride. The dissenter-in-chief begins to chuckle, voice still masked by the helmet. I still don’t fully comprehend what his plan is as he whistles two notes; first a high one, then a low one. The call of the lark. This asshole has a sense of humour, picking Thornica’s national bird as his rallying call. The hall pounds with footsteps once more. The disorderly ranks of the rebels enlarge, straighten, and stand in formation as more than half of my trusted Royal Guard crosses the threshold to join them. I am left with no more than a handful of soldiers and that damned fool Edward by my side, and not even he can hide his momentary shock. The hall, despite having the air of battle churning overhead in preparation for its descent, falls silent, letting the second betrayal permeate within.

“Guards! All of you, back in line, this instant!” Edward calls to them, to no avail. Even I can hear the defeat in his voice. After no one moves, he tries again. “Royal Guard, you will obey my order right now or you will be hanged for treason!”

“Who’s gonna hang us? The dead man sitting on the throne?” one of the guards snaps back. 

“Did you really think I hadn’t thought that far ahead?” laughs the leader. “Open your eyes, Alaric. You’ve become what you set out to rid the kingdom of. You call this following in your father’s footsteps!? As your father heroically weathered the storm of the Joint Kingdoms? Your father fought to keep the kingdom out from under the boot of people like you! Now stand down. There is yet hope that we can resolve this without violence. I know that you are still your father’s son.”

I know that you are still your father’s son. These words spark something in me that is uglier and far more monstrous than any man. I was young when my father died, true. But these fools have no idea who he was. Who I was. Who I am. They have no idea. I open my mouth to speak, but my arm has different ideas. Some unspoken battle cry ignites the room as I rise from my throne, wielding the sword that belongs to my father. The hall, which up until this point had been mocking me with a reverent silence, roars to life again as spears and shields clang against one another. A sword whizzes past me as their leader charges me. Time slows. 

All around me I see my subjects. The rebels, with their makeshift armor, held together with spit and hope and some crude metallurgy. Most are masked, but there is the odd one that has removed theirs. I recognize the scars of an old soldier, wounded during my father’s war. Near him stands the face of a young man, likely no older than seventeen, eyes hardy and steeled, but I know his type. Behind that gaze he hides a terrible fear of where he is right now. The untrained rebels fight haphazardly, kicking and gouging and striking out every which way. Their tooth-and-nail style only further emphasizes the rigidity of my Royal Guard, standing tall and proud and fighting shield-first, as is the way of the Thornicans. My gaze shifts to two guardsmen, locked in a fight against one another. If there is a way of differentiating who is with me and who is against me, I have no means of discovering it. The great hall of the castle is in turmoil, with the grand table knocked over, various forks and knives strewn about on the floor. Is that stain on the floor from blood, or from the wine drunk the night before? My only small comfort is that no servants are present. For this rebellion to have left me without help would be far more of an inconvenience. The hall stretches out, a microcosm of my kingdom, brought to war against each other, brothers spilling blood of brothers. Is this what I have done? Is this all my ruling has wrought? How could this be? And most importantly, how had I been unable to detect something was amiss?

Chapter II - The Last Supper

If my Royal Guard could have betrayed me, it would’ve had to have taken convincing, likely by one of my senior advisors. Had I known then that I would sit down to dine with the one that would sell their integrity and my throne to these rebels, I would’ve lopped off the heads of all at my table. Except Edward… maybe. In the chaos and confusion of battle, the enemy leader stumbles. Before I charge in and cut off the head of the serpent, one of the remaining loyal guards lunges at him with his spear. The leader deftly rolls away, and I step back. I watch the two fight briefly, an odd sense of familiarity enveloping me. Where have I seen that leader before? There’s something about them… My mind races to the day before. If treachery was brewing, something would have slipped through the traitor’s actions. The last time we were all gathered together was at dinner… Roughly 20 hours earlier, my kingdom seemed impenetrable. By all accounts, barring either devilry or magic, it should still have been. 

We were all seated in the great hall, where presently the battle raged. However last night was as peaceful as a summer evening, where time seemed to slow in a last act of defiance. In the castle, the woes of the world were far away and quiet - but they were raging in my mind. I had abandoned my father’s throne to join my advisors at the feast table, but the roast pigs and fresh wine was going largely uneaten. Each of them in turn had their thoughts on my latest decree.

“My liege, respectfully speaking, it’s a suicide mission!” stormed Henry, the Advisor of War. “We have neither the time, nor the manpower, to undertake this! Our kingdom will be wiped out in a matter of weeks! Have you forgotten the trials of your father?” I never had. Not a day went by that I forgot my father’s trials. The throne weighed heavy on my mind. My father Athanaric had died in battle, defending Thornica from an invasion. He ascended the throne in the War of Succession, proving his diplomatic and military strength, but most of his rule was spent slowly earning the trust of a populace that hated him, only to die defending them. Only after death did he get the respect he was due. 

“Sir, Advisor Henry is right. Our soldiers are not in their prime. We have maintained peace for a long while. Is it so wrong that we should not attempt to ruin that?” Edward chimed in from beside me. 

“In addition, King Alaric, our coffers would be emptied twice over paying for a war like that! Even at the cheapest possible expense, and as your father would tell you, cheap is no way to fight a winning war.” This came from Richard, the Treasurer, and continued around the table. Kingdom Affairs telling me my subjects would riot. The Advisor for Health telling me the strain it would have on me would grey my hair tremendously. It wasn’t that I didn’t trust them. They wouldn’t have voiced their concerns unless they were grave. But I could not afford their concerns. 

“It matters not. This kingdom will fall if we do not act. The Joint Kingdoms brought my father to his knees and this kingdom to the brink of submission. They were only driven back thanks to my father’s cunning, and those bastards took his life as payment. They will not stay idle for long. We must strike now before they are once again too powerful! I understand your concerns. It will be costly. But I will fight tooth and nail before I see this kingdom subjugated by the likes of them.” At this remark, Henry muttered something under his breath, but it was quiet enough that I could not hear him. What else was I supposed to say? How could I tell them of the fitful dreams I suffered through every night, of my kingdom in ruins, of the banner of the Joint Kingdoms flying over the towers of my castle? Of my father, armor sundered, being stabbed over and over by the heartless generals? How could I explain the look in my ghostly father’s eyes, imploring me to fight on? If they knew, surely they would understand. But some things, only the King can know. The contents of his dreams are one of them.

Henry, at this point, rose from the table. “We will die! I cannot stand for any more of your actions! First the suppression of the petitioners, then the imposition of the royal tax, and now war!” he screamed, before storming out. Edward rose after him, but seated himself again after I waved my hand. 

“Let him go. I understand I do not bring welcome news. We must all deal in our own way. This will make us strong, and I am confident, more united.” Edward’s sideways glance lingered long and heavy on my mind. I had never questioned myself before then. Perhaps it was not always the case that the monarch should be unopposed. Maybe for other matters I would listen. But I could not divert from the path I had chosen. It was too late. To capitulate now would be an insult to my kingdom and my father’s unyielding legacy. The rest would come around. I was sure of it. The silence hung in the air, like the Sword of Damien in the bard’s fable whose thin thread would soon snap. No one seemed sure of what to say, until eventually Richard, the Treasurer, broke the silence.

“I apologize for Henry’s outburst, King Alaric. I see now that you are committed to this. As you are the King, I pledge my full and undying support to you. If you would excuse me, I’ll go find Henry. Perhaps he’ll come back if he learns that the rest of us have given our support?” With that, Richard rose from the table and exited the great hall as fast as his good leg would take him. Henry did not return, but his absence made sense. Who better to rally the Royal Guard than the Advisor for War? Next to Edward, he was the one they took orders from. And that explained how the army of rebels could have made it all the way into the castle with no resistance - because Henry and the Guard made sure there would be none! While I had assumed he was cooling off after his outburst, it was more likely that was the final straw that had pushed him towards rebellion. I felt sad for him more than anything. Henry had been a faithful counsellor to the kingdom for almost my entire reign. I only wish he had talked to me before. Was that another failing of my own? And now that he was the traitor, I would have to put my own trusted advisor to the sword. The thought of it left a sour taste in my mouth.

Time sped up again. The battle still raged, with Henry’s outburst superimposed over the chaotic scene spread in front of me. The leader and one of the guards remained in a fight in front of me. I had been caught unaware, with no chance to put on my armor. I turned around, sword in hand, to find Henry charging at me. I rolled to the side and my adversary crashed into the throne. 

“Henry! Just stand down and we can talk about this!” I commanded, pointing the sword at him. 

“There’s nothing to talk about, Alaric. You’re going to get us killed with the way you’re ruling! Someone has to stop you! You can’t change my mind!” He leapt to his feet and charged at me again. He swung valiantly, but I got my sword in front of his and parried. I kicked out, my foot aiming for his stomach but connecting with his hip. I followed with a quick slice of my sword, but he pivoted and the sword connected directly with the plating over his right knee. The cacophonous clang of metal on metal rang out throughout the hall, over the sounds of the fighting, but that was too drowned out as the leader dropped to his knees and howled a scream of pain unlike any I had ever heard. I had got it wrong. The traitor wasn’t Henry at all. Perhaps it was, but I knew for certain the masked man in front of me wasn’t. Who had I seen with a previously injured leg? 

Chapter III - The Breaking of the Siege

O King Athanaric, the brave and defiant  
The great storm of war did harrow his soul  
Give in to demand, nay, he chose to fight it  
The Joint Kingdom’s maw would swallow him whole

O King Athanaric, the mover of Heaven  
The world it did weep as you died on that field  
Struck down by surprise by the general’s javelin  
Till your final breath you were never to yield

O King Athanaric, Thornica’s Saviour  
Songs of your praise we will forever sing  
You fought to the end and you rescued our people  
Hail to your line, hail to the king!

From The Ballad of Athanaric

16 years ago  
Invasion of the Kingdom of Thornica by the Joint Kingdoms of Lyra and Veremir

Athanaric turned back briefly to see his kingdom, far in the distance. From his vantage point on the hill, it still retained the magnificent quality he had always seen, ever since his coronation. The high stone walls encircling the main city, with the spires of the castle, his home, still an imposing warning of the robust strength of the Thornicans. 

Not strong enough, mused Athanaric. The Joint Kingdoms are damn near knocking on the door. The kingdom had been under siege for months. Athanaric had been caught unaware of the threat looming -- though in his defense, no one could’ve expected that the Joint Kingdoms would stop their bickering long enough to take down a common enemy. They had foregone a traditional declaration of war, opting instead for a surprise invasion. Their generals had expected Thornica, dwarfed in size compared to that of their combined kingdoms, to be crushed under their boot. They were wrong. Athanaric had marshalled an army that kept them two steps from victory at all times. Though the generals of the Joint Kingdoms would never admit this, they were tired, and needed an end. The politics back home were quickly breaking down, and there was talk among the Kings themselves of suing for peace should the war continue much longer.

As a result, their tactics grew bigger and bolder. The Joint Kingdoms had amassed a large force, and were hell-bent on breaking through the front lines and sacking Mossen, the capital, at any cost. The citizens had awoken and gone about their normal days, unaware that an army was quickly advancing towards their peaceful kingdom. Athanaric broke his gaze from his kingdom and faced his soldiers once more. The morning sun’s rays dazzled and shone, bouncing off his armor and scattering among the countless young men staring up at him. 

Look at all of them, Athanaric thought. Their silver armor was scuffed and dented, their swords losing their edge. They had no time to prepare, and yet, here they all were, each of them with that look in their eyes. That look of abject determination, ready to follow their commanders into the depths of Hell itself should the order be given, and the confidence that should they stand united they could stop the waves of the Western Sea. 

In a few days’ time, most of them will be dead. Unless we can pull off some kind of miracle. The army of invaders was an ever-expanding blot on the otherwise picturesque landscape, a blot growing larger and larger every day until it threatened to envelop Mossen, and then all of Thornica. And what stood between them? An aging king, and a small army of talented, yet inexperienced fighters. Athanaric’s crown dazzled golden in the light. He removed it and delicately traced his fingertips over the intricate filigree, feeling the grooves and patterns, admiring the ruby set at the top. The crown glinted, almost as a response, and he summoned a soldier to him. 

“Take this back to the Throne Room at once.” Athanaric handed him the crown, then dug around in a pouch on his waist and fished out a simple black seal with the Sonorim crest on it. “Show this to the gate guards. They’ll know you aren’t an infiltrator.” The soldier looked stunned at first, but bolted upon the king’s command towards Mossen. The rest of the soldiers had noticed this little display, and looked upon their king, now crownless.

“It’s much easier for them to know exactly who to target if I’m wearing the crown,” Athanaric offered as a means of explanation. In the distance, rhythmic rumbling of drums and high wails of trumpets signalled the approach of the Joint Kingdoms. “Well, men, I suppose the hour is at hand. The Joint Kingdoms are tired, and so are their soldiers. We have a chance to strike a decisive blow, and show them exactly what happens when they try and invade our mighty kingdom! Fight on, men, and know that your king will be right next to you on the front lines! Fight for your wives, your children, your loved ones. Fight for the people waking up in the town below! I am proud of each and every one of you here today, and know that no matter the outcome, you are forever noble warriors in the eyes of the king!” An arrow volley interrupted him from saying everything he planned to say. “To arms, men! We fight now till our last breath! Yield to no one!” 

The approaching army, polished armor glinting, red paint slathered in various patterns and designs across their black iron breastplates, drew ever closer, until their generals ordered the assault with one simple word:

Charge. 

***

The battle raged, with very little ground being gained or lost. The Joint Kingdoms were very slowly pushing their way through the Thornican lines. Their numbers advantage was simply too much for the small army to fight off. Lumbering over the infantry rolled several large siege towers, which would know doubt cause the city to be laid waste should they ever reach the walls. Athanaric, standing slightly behind the front lines, studied the scene with dismay. His breathing, barely audible over the general chaos of battle, began to shudder, and his knees started to wobble. “What am I to do…” he murmured.

“Your Highness?” someone said, snapping him out of his reverie.

“Y-yes, *ahem*, yes, what is it?” It was one of the generals of the army.

“One of the scouts has gotten back to us. It seems they apparently heard tell of a fault in one of the supports on those siege towers. The groups have already been sent off to see if they can topple them, but I wanted to deliver the news to you personally. Might lift your spirits.” The general could not hide a grin from his face as he bowed.

Athanaric waved his hand dismissively. He studied the siege towers in the distance, their height and their relative distance, when an idea struck him, terrible and wonderful all at once. “I need you to halt those siege towers in their tracks. Get them all in a line. Stop the command to topple them.”  
The colour drained from the general’s face. “K-King Athanaric, they’re already well beyond our ranks. I can’t call them back from here.” 

“Then halt the rest. I’m going to go join the attack. If we execute this correctly, it may well be a masterstroke against the Joint Kingdoms.” Before the General could say anything in response, the king had already begun his descent into the front lines. 

***

The sound of battle roared above all else. Clang of metal on metal, the screams of the dying and the injured, and the overwhelming rumble of the advancing siege towers. From up close, the flaw was evident: a support for one of the pillars was weak. Athanaric beelined for the siege towers, but was interrupted by a scrambled guard of the Joint Kingdom’s soldiers. They rushed him at once, and he doubled back, before a group of Thornican soldiers burst out from the flanks, with swords leading. One of the soldiers hastily gestured in the direction of the tower and Athanaric understood immediately. A soldier tried to slice at him with their sword, but was quickly cut down by a Thornican. 

The King reached the siege tower and discovered the source of the flaw: one of the axles wasn’t properly sized, and rattled slightly within the socket of the wheel. Athanaric jammed his sword within the small gap and jumped back off the tower, waiting to see if what he hoped would happen would actually happen. Lo and behold, the tower jolted as one wheel broke away from the rest, causing the siege tower to collapse -- right into its neighboring tower, causing a domino effect. Athanaric watched, a manic grin breaking into his face as he saw the Joint Kingdoms’ ultimate weapon collapse before their eyes. Perhaps the day could be saved after all. In this crazed moment of joy, Athanaric let his guard down - and in that moment a mace struck him across the chest, cracking his armor in two. It fell off as Athanaric fell to the ground. The man wielding the mace was a Lyrian general. He drew his dagger and stabbed Athanaric in the heart. 

“Even without the crown, we still know it’s you, King Athanaric,” sneered the general as he removed the dagger and stabbed him again, and then again, and then a fourth time, stopping after the fifth.

Athanaric gurgled weakly as his vision began to fade. Lying on his back, he saw the clouds part and the sun shine through, only for a moment, and then the King of Thornica died.

Chapter IV - Deceiving Appearances

Who had I seen with an injured leg? Richard, the Treasurer.

“You son of a bitch…” I gasped, as the realization came flooding in. With Richard still reeling in pain, I lunged towards him and in one fluid motion tore off his helmet. Face contorted in pain, yet still retaining a malevolent smile, Richard’s unblinking eyes screwed up in pain and stared at me before quickly shifting left to the throne, and then right to the ongoing battle. “It was you,” I whispered, my rage giving way to sheer confusion and disbelief.

Richard’s eloquent response to my condemnation was spitting in my face. “I had hoped you wouldn’t find out. It would’ve been much easier for your soul in the next life if this had gone according to plan. All because of an injury twenty years ago, fighting for your father. My, how times change.” His voice was hoarse and his breathing laboured. The injury obviously had never healed. 

“That’s why? Because you fought with my father? Can’t you understand that everything I have done has been to honour his legacy! I will not stand for this. I’m sorry, Richard. Truly. But I am the King. And the King must protect his kingdom from rebels like you.” I raised my sword, blinking away the tears that were forming. Richard kneeled on the ground, unable to stand, let alone deflect any kind of blow. It is never easy to take life. Especially not the life of your trusted counsel, your advisor, your friend; but as the king it falls to you to do the actions no one else can. That was the lesson my father taught me, before he was murdered for his rebellion. My sword wavered, and the image of my father flashed in my mind again. 

“It’s over, Alaric.” A quiet voice pierces my brain and I realize it is Richard. The battle is rapidly ending, with the rebels far outnumbering any loyal guardsmen I have, not that I can tell who’s who anymore. Attention is beginning to shift towards Richard and I. My sword, still hanging in the air, refuses my will to swing it downwards, to end the life of the insurgent. Richard is wheezing laughter. “You’re alone now,” he croaks, gesturing behind me. Foolishly, I listen to him, and turn my head. My gaze fixates on a victim of the skirmish below, a broken spear sticking out of the poor soldier’s neck. It is then my gaze shifts slightly, noticing the sigil on the man’s armour.

It’s the symbol of the Captain of the Guard. Edward’s symbol. All life drains from my body. I gasp for air. My legs… where are they? I can’t feel my legs. Why… why am I kneeling? My father would never have kneeled to his foes! And yet… I can’t stand up. Richard groans and then sucks air through his teeth as he hoists himself to his feet, with my limp body kneeling before the throne. Below us, the battle appears frozen as the rebels stare at the players, waiting for one of them to make his move. But I have no more moves to make. 

Chapter V - Checkmate

Tears start flowing. What a sight to behold. I, King Alaric, righteous and just leader of this kingdom, reduced to a blubbering wreck before a rebel traitor. My father is dead. My kingdom is lost. Edward, my dearest and truest friend, skewered before me defending my cause. Is this what it means to be king? To lose everything you have ever held dear? What had I been doing all this time?

“Just do it already,” I whisper. Richard’s hand pulls me up by my neck and his sword rests on my throat. “You’re right. I’ve lost. May you fare better, Richard.” My breathing is impeded by the sword on my windpipe. We lock eyes. I cannot place what emotion rests at the centre of them. His hand wavers on the hilt of the sword, and his eyes survey the aftermath of the battle that has since ended. A vile stench of blood and iron swirls around the room, a far cry from the usual luxurious feasts held here. A cavalcade of whispers and screams of the dying hits my ears all at once, but I cannot shut them out. From my periphery I can see wounded already being treated, or dragged unceremoniously out of the hall towards the doctor. But despite all this chaos, all this suffering, a sort of serenity falls over the hall. Everything seems peaceful somehow; after all, I am about to die. There’s nothing anyone can do anymore. Was this how my father felt right before he died? Or was he defiant and unyielding right to the end, staring his killer in the eye and daring him to finish the job?  
The tempest in Richard’s eyes rages and breaks. His hand clenches my throat and he stares at me, still holding the sword. Is that mercy, or cowardice in his eyes? Why has he not just killed me yet?

One of the masked rebels breaks the tension and begins storming towards Richard. “Are you kidding me? You spearhead this whole damn thing and you can’t even finish the job? Give me the fucking sword and I’ll finish it myself.” He would’ve made it all the way to Richard, but a hand on his shoulder from one of the other rebels restrains him. 

“No. By killing him we would only become exactly like him. By sparing him, we can prove ourselves merciful - and that will carry far more weight.” This comment caused an uproar among the rebels, and each of them started to break in with their own opinions about what they should do. The noise builds and slowly turns into an uproar when Richard throws me to the ground and slams the sword down into the floor beside me. After all this humiliation, I am still being held under his will. To be so completely at the mercy of someone else is a fate worse than death. 

“Enough!” The rebels fall silent and Richard speaks in a low voice. “Leave the kingdom, Alaric. From this moment on you are deposed and exiled. Should you ever return, you will face immediate and very public execution.” Richard cannot look me in the eye. I stagger away from the former Treasurer, my usurper, and kneel before Edward’s body. His eyes are closed. The hall is dead silent as I exit. Not a single soldier makes a move to stop me, nor do any attempt to follow me. A trance envelops me as I leave the castle. It is a long walk through the town to get from the castle to the main gate. Even after being spared, it seems the humiliation doesn’t end. The townsfolk are largely absent. Perhaps some unseen, unknowable force made them realize the marked man on his last march. I almost fall down the last downward slope before the main gate. The gate guards say nothing; they don’t have to. They know. I continue my crooked pace until I am well beyond the limits of the city.

My father walks ahead of me, staying just out of pace. He carries a long walking stick, which really was more for appearance than out of any necessity. He wears no crown, wears no armor, wears only an everyday doublet, something I very rarely saw him wear. Words of his reach my ears, but I cannot process what he is saying. Perhaps I was never meant to. The woods surrounding the city are vast, with many uncharted lands beyond them. My father stops, and points into the woods. 

“It’s okay,” I say to him. “You go where you want. I’ll catch up.” A long tree branch lays beside me. It’s nowhere near a whittled stick, but it’ll have to do for now. The trees give way to endless forest, and somewhere beyond that, a new place that no one I know has ever seen. Maybe there’s where I am meant to be. Maybe there’s where I will find what it means to be a king… if anyone can know such a thing.

-


End file.
